


This, and This, and This (Collected tSoA Ficlets)

by ladyofrosefire



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: I have heard horrible rumors about the imminent collapse of tumblr, M/M, so I am moving EVERYTHING fic over here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a couple tumblr drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Counting Freckles

**Author's Note:**

> So everyone understands, the image that pops up when I picture Achilles has become [this guy](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/6e/25/a0/6e25a01fb7571b3086dff58d4a178737.jpg)  
> AU if you like.

"One, two, three, four, five, si--"  
“Patroclus.”   
“Yes?”  
“What are you doing?”

When no answer becomes immediately available, Achilles opens his eyes. Patroclus, who had been, until that moment, leaning over him, promptly rolls away. Achilles grumbles at the sudden rush of cooler air and the sun in his eyes, and then rolls to follow him, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“Patroclus…” He urges. Then, despite knowing that Patroclus thinks it is cheating, he leans in so that his lips brush the shell of his ear. “What were you doing?”

He feels the shudder that runs down Patroclus’s spine and does nothing to hold back the smile that pulls at his mouth. Patroclus’s heel jabs one of his shins in a half-hearted kick.

“Nothing.”  
“You were…” He kisses the skin over Patroclus’s fluttering pulse, “counting,” another kiss, this one to his shoulder, and Patroclus shifts, a noise like protest and encouragement breaking from his lips.

“What were you doing?” Achilles asks again, and rolls onto his back, pulling Patroclus back over him. His hair catches the light of the sun, absorbs it, and he is crowned in shadow. (Achilles can understand why Persephone followed Hades, if he was this beautiful, if he promised this much peace.) 

Patroclus is flushed just darkly enough for Achilles to see it, and it makes his smile widen until Patroclus kisses it away. 

“I was counting your freckles.” He admits when he pulls away, and it is Achilles’s turn to to feel his ears go hot. 

“Ah…” He clears his throat, and then folds one arm behind his head, leaving the other around Patroclus’s waist. “Carry on, then.”

There’s a pause as Patroclus laughs and shifts to a more comfortable position. Achilles closes his eyes. 

“I’m going to have to start over, you know…”

Achilles only hums agreeably.

Patroclus laughs again, and then takes a long, slow breath. 


	2. Waking Up

In the moments before Patroclus wakes, Achilles watches him, his vision still clouded with sleep. The rise and fall of his chest, first. It is a little shallower in sleep than any other time, he has noticed, shallow and slow and sweet. Each breath lifts his hand an inch or two where it lies on Patroclus’s stomach. His lips are slightly parted, and his eyelashes throw shadows over the open, clean lines of his face. 

He has a lovely face. Patroclus’s mouth is less plush than his and his jaw shows sighs of becoming broader, more square. There is stubble, there, too, just a little. Achilles nearly moves his hand from Patroclus’s stomach to touch it. He knows the shape of his own face by touch and Patroclus’s descriptions. His features are finer, and there is no rasp of hair on his cheeks, despite his being a grown man, now.

His body is stronger, though, taller. Patroclus has not had years of combat to build muscle on his limbs and fill out his chest and shoulders. They are broader, of course, but he is not sculpted. The lines of his body are young and imperfect. The wings of his collarbones are the closest he comes to delicate, and while his waist is narrow from running and swimming, there are no lines of muscle and tendon visible. 

Except, of course, in his hands. Achilles admires one of them for a moment, wishing he could touch without waking Pactroclus. Those fingers have stitched him up many times. They have crafted him gifts and cures for the both of them. They are clever hands, a physician’s hands, and the blood Patroclus had spilled has been long since washed away. 

He knows this body, now. His own aches with the knowing, and it’s the sweetest ache he can remember feeling. He smiles as Patroclus wakes and finds the soreness in his own body. _Hello, my love_. he thinks, they lie still beside one another with the morning light filtering in through the mouth of the cave. 


End file.
